


A Seat At the Table - The Secret History of Neal Caffrey

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Secret History of Neal Caffrey [7]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Eggsy Unwin Needs a Hug, Eggsy-Merlin friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Grief, Harry Hart is Dead (still), Implied Relationships, Longing, M/M, Mention of Peter Burke, Merlin as Arthur, Merlin is a BAMF, Merlin takes care of everyone, Neal Caffrey Needs His Head Examined, Non-Canon Compliant to The Golden Circle, Spoilers for White Collar Season 6, This explains Neal Caffrey and his extraordinary and amazing skills, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Picking up right from the end ofCalling in the Favor, Merlin listens to Neal's request for another shot at becoming a Kingsman and he likes the idea quite a bit.  But there are still rules that need to be followed.  And Merlin still has games to play.Merlin finishes his drink and sets down his glass. He leans forward and gets down to business. "What do you want, Neal?""I want another shot. I bet you're recruiting right and left these days and I want to be a Kingsman. That's my favor and I'm calling it in."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although Neal is present in the first part of the story, this is mostly a Kingsman story, told initially from Merlin's point of view, and then Eggsy's. I wanted to explore their reactions – particularly Eggsy's – to Neal Caffrey, before he actually meets him. There's quite a bit of White Collar canon buried in the second part of the story and a little bit of my own personal fanon about Neal and Peter. 
> 
> Also, the first time writing anything from Merlin's point of view.
> 
> And frankly, how the hell did this story balloon to nearly 8K and three chapters? These stories are supposed to be short bits that I bang out in a couple of hours on a Sunday afternoon? Well, I hope you enjoy. Thank you [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/theatregirl7299/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/theatregirl7299/)**theatregirl7299** for the beta! Un-Brit-Picked, though.
> 
> Story is posted complete

Merlin has to confess, when he'd gotten word that Neal Caffrey wanted to talk to him about the favor he was still owed, he'd been tempted to blow Caffrey off and hand it to someone else to deal with. Not because he’s uninterested, but simply because he's a very busy man these days. Wearing the dual mantles of the Kingsman's quartermaster and its leader, Arthur, means he doesn't have the time to breathe. 

Let alone talk to some failed candidate about a nearly-forgotten obligation.

Except that Neal Caffrey isn't just some failed candidate. He has the potential to be an invaluable asset to an organization that's far too depleted to turn its nose up at anything that might help them regain their footing. He's also someone that Merlin's grown to admire. 

Merlin’s kept track of Caffrey over the years; admiring the ever-more incredible heists he'd pulled and he'd been sorely disappointed that the lad had gotten himself arrested; he had waited eagerly for Neal to call in that favor and use it as a get out of jail free card.

But the call never came.

Surprised and curious about what Caffrey had been thinking – to not call in the favor - Merlin watched out for Neal during his prison term, pulling a few strings, paying some bribes, making sure the lad had a private cell and protection. And then the little shit had to go and escape with three months left on a four year sentence. The escape had impressed Merlin to no end, but it put him right back in prison, because Neal Caffrey had been a romantic idiot and Peter Burke had been a hell of a lot smarter than the average FBI agent. 

Merlin had again waited for a call that never came, because Neal did the unthinkable. 

He outsmarted everyone and talked himself into a four-year stint under the FBI's microscope, instead of another four years behind bars. It had been endlessly amusing watching Caffrey run rings around the FBI, and even more amusing to watch him work _with_ the FBI. Seeing that brilliance and potential put to good use had made Merlin proud. He'd done his homework on the White Collar division out of New York and found them to be a more than decent a clan of law enforcement officers, ones who would let Neal color outside the lines as much as they could while doing their best to restrain Neal's more outrageous impulses. It didn’t hurt that the head of the division, Reese Hughes, was an old school spook.

That being said, there still had been times when Merlin had thought about stepping in, whisking Caffrey out of New York and putting him to work – not as a Knight, of course, but as an asset for Kingsman. Harry, who'd had little interest in Neal after proposing him as a candidate, developed a renew fascination with the lad and had actively encouraged this. Merlin had held back, though. Yanking Caffrey out from under the FBI's nose might be just a bit too difficult to explain.

Merlin had deeply regretted not bringing Caffrey back into the Kingsman fold when he'd heard about the lad's death. He and Harry had raised their own glasses to a man who had achieved so much in such a brief lifetime. The Pink Panthers had been a slow-burning trash fire on the Kingsman docket for the better part of the last twenty years. Their leader, Alan Woodford, had been one of the last to exit the Lancelot trials in '97, the same ones that had ended with Lee Unwin's death. He'd used his hard-earned skills to become a master criminal, which Kingsman might have ignored, except that he'd coupled his thievery with cold-blooded murder. 

For almost two decades, Kingsman had tried to bring the son of a bitch down, but Woodford knew their faces, knew too many of their tricks, and they'd had never been able to get a toe-hold into the Panthers. It had pleased Merlin to no end that Neal Caffrey – another failed Kingsman candidate – had brought him and his not-so-merry bad of low-lives down.

A pity that it had cost the lad his life.

Or so he and Harry had thought, for a small space of time. Merlin needed to close the books on Caffrey; there had been the unredeemed favor that needed to be accounted for, paperwork to be filed. He'd hacked into the New York City Medical Examiner's computers and retrieved the autopsy files to confirm the death.

Looking at the photos, he and Harry had a good, long laugh. How the hell did anyone actually believe that Caffrey had died? A single gunshot wound to the chest, and yes, on the surface it had looked fatal, but in this case, looks certainly deceived everyone. From the immediate post-mortem photos, it had been clear that there had been no surgical incision on the body to stop the blood loss, nor had there been the standard Y-cut that any medical examiner would have done, even just to extract the bullet that had been turned over to the FBI for evidence. 

Caffrey had faked his death and Merlin couldn't be prouder.

After they'd stopped laughing, Harry had suggested that Merlin locate Caffrey. It shouldn't be too hard ; after all, Neal had always been a man with exquisite taste and well-known habits across multiple aliases, and that would make him vulnerable to discovery if someone knew what to look for. It had taken Merlin about a week; facial recognition programs had generated a hit on a man frequenting the administrative offices at the Louvre and the Orsay. Neal Caffrey, it seemed, had become George Deschanel, and had been trying to sell himself as a security expert to the great museums. Of course, Neal being Neal – no matter what he'd called himself – had been rather successful at it.

That had generated another good laugh. Neal as a museum security expert was the equivalent of putting a fox in charge of guarding the hen house.

When he'd told Harry where he'd found Neal, Harry had again suggested that they reel Caffrey in, put him to work as an asset. Merlin had argued for patience; he'd been interested in seeing if the lad could stay on the straight and narrow without his FBI minders. He'd also wondered if Harry had been looking to resume his physical relationship with Neal, and had planned on asking Him just that over their one of their semi-regular Friday night bottles of scotch and chess game.

Then Lancelot had gotten himself killed and that ticked off the ending of the world as they'd known it.

Which is why he'd had to take himself to Paris, why he'd needed to hear just what kind of favor Neal Caffrey wanted from Kingsman. Which is why he'd had a little fun breaking into Neal's apartment and waited for him in the dark for an hour. Which is why he's now sipping some rather indifferent scotch and listening to a most unbelievable request.

"I want another shot. I bet you're recruiting right and left these days and I want to be a Kingsman. That's my favor and I'm calling it in."

At first, Merlin doesn't quite know what to say. Not because he finds the idea preposterous, but because it's just so perfect. Not that he's going to let Caffrey know that.

"Don't tell me that I've actually rendered you speechless." Neal's not quite smiling, but then there's nothing really to smile about.

"I do have to say I am surprised." Merlin gets up and goes to the bar, helping himself to another dram of that not so terrible whiskey. "I didn't think that you'd be asking for a favor that would provide no benefit to you. We can give you a place in Kingsman, but it's not going to be fun and games like you had at the FBI."

"I think you're deliberately misunderstanding me, Merlin. I'm not asking for a job or work as an asset. I want another shot at being a Knight. I want a seat at the Table."

"And I'm not misunderstandin' ye, lad. The world's changed, and changed badly. There's no cachet in being a member of the Table anymore. Ye become a Knight, ye'll be sent to one of the many hellholes that have opened up around the world. Ye'll be spending your time plugging the dams that hold back the rivers of shit with nothing more than a half-empty roll of toilet paper. Ye've got a cushy gig in Paris – your work's in high demand. Why would ye want to give that up?" Merlin deliberately lets his brogue thicken.

"Stop underselling, it's not working." Neal stares at him, eyes burning. "You always understood me, Merlin. Back in training, it always seemed that you knew what I was thinking, even before I did. So – why don't you tell me why I'd want back in?"

Merlin sighs and shakes his head; Neal is far too easy to read. "You're still that young man who wants to be a hero. You think this is your last chance at that."

Neal nods. "I've let down too many people in my life. Calling in the favor for this gives me a chance to fix that."

"Harry's dead." Those words taste sour and the sip of scotch Merlin takes doesn't help.

Neal's shocked. "When? How?"

"V-Day. He was set up and taken out before we knew what was happening." Merlin stares down at Neal. "Does this change your mind?"

"Hell, no." Neal doesn't say anything else.

"It's hard to imagine a world without Harry Hart, isn't it?"

Neal blinks and lets out a dry, sad chuckle. 

"What's so funny?"

"Would you believe that I never knew his last name? His real last name. He'd always been Harry DeVere. And Galahad. But Harry Hart, that's rather fitting, isn't it?"

"Lad?" Merlin had forgotten that Harry had been on assignment during the entirety of Neal's tenure for the Tristan trials. In fact, after the train test, Neal had spent those twenty-four hours with Merlin.

"Hart – a regal forest creature with showy antlers and the tendency to fuck everything in its path." Neal sips his scotch and has a fond look on his face.

Merlin laughs. "Neal Caffrey, ye'r one of a kind. I dare say I've missed your wit." 

Neal ducks his head in embarrassed pleasure. "So?"

Merlin sits down and gives Neal a hard stare. "You really do want this, don't ye? Despite everything I've just told you."

"It's not just what I want. It's what I need." Neal seems to sigh with his whole body. "I've lost everything, Merlin. Family, friends. I have nothing left to lose. And I don't want to go back to what I was."

"Your FBI handler – Burke, the one you worked with – he doesn't know ye'r alive?"

"He does, but he doesn't want me to come home. I've had to stop asking. He's still trying to cope with what happened on V-Day."

Merlin hears the grief in Neal's simple explanation and makes a mental note to look into the current situation with Peter Burke. He'd always wondered about the relationship Neal had with his FBI handler. "And your other friend?" Merlin rubs his head. He'd found surprising little on the small bald man who'd shadowed much of Neal's life.

"Dead." Neal doesn't elaborate. He doesn't have to.

"Ah."

"So you see, I'm a man without attachments. No friends, no family."

"You still hate guns?"

"I'm adaptable." Neal finishes his scotch. "So, you'll take my proposition to Arthur?"

"No."

That sets Neal back, "Why not?" 

Merlin smiles. "Dinna need to. I'm Arthur now." He enjoys the dawning look of appreciation on Neal's face. 

"So, now what?"

"The situation is, I have to admit, unique. And while there's nothing actually prohibiting me from commissioning you right here, right now, I'd rather bring your proposition to the Table. We're down by four and recruitment has been … difficult."

Neal gives him a thoughtful look. To Merlin's surprise, he asks about Chester. "Arthur was killed during V-Day, wasn't he?"

"How do you figure that, laddie?" 

"I don't think you'd have taken up the title in any other circumstance."

Merlin chuckles, once again impressed by Neal's perspicacity. "Your right, I wouldn't have. In fact, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours a day, I deeply and intensely regret accepting the position."

"What is it about that one hour that doesn't make you regretful?"

"Being Arthur means I have a private bog. A real luxury shitter." Merlin isn't sure why he's being quite so vulgar, especially since he rarely makes use of Arthur's private "throne room". 

Neal laughs and that sound is reason enough.

Merlin draws the conversation back to the point. "As I said, I am going to give the Table the chance to approve your position. They'll get to know you, warts and all."

"Interviews? Will they interview me?" Neal gives him a shit-eating grin. The lad knows just how well he comes across with strangers. 

"I'm not giving you the chance to charm them out of their shorts. They'll get the full dossier on you; the life and times – and crimes – of Neal George Caffrey." Merlin smiles and Neal actually looks a little cowed. "I've got everything on you, lad. From Day One. Your fellow Knights are going to get to know you quite intimately even before they lay eyes on your pretty face."

"That's stacking the deck, don't you think?"

"Nah, I think your record speaks for itself. The qualities that your friends in FBI turned their noses up at are qualities that we need in Kingsman."

Neal stares at him and Merlin can see how hard he's trying not to jump to those friends' defense, even at his own expense.

"But that's not to say that the traditionalists who are still members of the Table won't look askance at your criminal history. Fortunately, those traditionalists are now the extreme minority." 

"And if the vote goes against me?"

Merlin again appreciates Neal's intelligence. "I may exercise executive fiat. Now – that's 'may', not 'will' so don't think this is a sure thing." 

"Okay. I understand." Neal looks uncertain now.

"But I don't think that I'll need to make that decision. You're going to show everyone just why you're the horse to be backed in this race. I won't put ye through the whole training sequence again, but I think a few tests wouldn't be out of order." 

"Will I need to shoot a dog?"

Once upon a time, before the world nearly ended in noise and violence, Merlin might have relished yanking on Caffrey's chain. In the six months as Arthur, _pro tem_ , Merlin's learned that sometimes it's best to rein in his propensity for playing head games. "Nah, we've ditched that test."

"Good. It was stupid."

"It had its purposes. There was a time when blind obedience was a quality we needed. Not anymore. The world's too crazy and our resources are spread too thin to be feeding instructions to agents like porridge to an infant."

"So, what happens now?" Neal's tone is one of studied indifference, but there's a barely leashed tension in his posture. He's like a racing hound waiting for the gate to open.

"You'll come to London, get settled, and wait for my instructions."

Neal gives him a shit-eating grin. "I can do that."

Merlin takes his leave and heads home. For the very first time, he's actually happy to be Arthur.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after V-Day, Eggsy is still trying to fit into the mantle of Galahad. He's completed more than a dozen missions successfully and has earned a bit of downtime. When Merlin - as the acting Arthur - proposes to commission a former Kingsman candidate, Neal Caffrey, as the new Tristan, Eggsy sits up and takes notice. Apparently, this Caffrey guy couldn't shoot his dog either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freely admit that this is the story that I've most looked forward to writing when I started thinking about Neal Caffrey as a Kingsman knight. How the other knights, particularly Eggsy, would see Neal and his history, both before and during his time with the FBI.

Eggsy hardly ever remembers to call Merlin by his new title, and Merlin, for his part, never bothers to correct him. Eggsy thinks it's because Merlin hates being Arthur and can't wait for someone to take up the mantle full time. But when he sees Merlin in a perfectly tailored suit and tie, sitting at the head of the long table in the Boardroom, he can't help but call Merlin by his proper title.

"Morning, Arthur."

Merlin actually gives him the stink-eye but replies with utter correctness, "Morning, Galahad." He goes back to reviewing his tablet without another word.

Before Eggsy helps himself to a cup of coffee, he covertly checks Merlin's cup and sees that it's empty but for a ring of dried dregs at the bottom; Merlin's been sitting here for a while, it seems. He takes the cup and sets it on the tray for the housekeeping staff and brings his boss a fresh cup, fixed just the way he likes it – a tiny splash of cream and one lump of sugar.

"Thanks, lad." Merlin is still engrossed with his reading material.

"Ta." Eggsy fixes his own coffee and sits down next to Merlin. Not that the Knights have any assigned places at the table, but someone – it might have been Bors – had joked that sitting at Arthur's right hand was like putting one's ass on the Siege Perilous. Which meant that Eggsy _had_ to take that seat. He is, after all, Galahad.

Roxy comes in, looking beautiful but exhausted. Until yesterday, she'd been on assignment in Greece, doing her best to shore up the operations of one of that country's largest shipping companies. Greece's economy had never recovered from the 2014 meltdown, and had been hit particularly hard by V-Day. Shipping, still a strategic industry for Greece, needs to be closely watched. It would be too easy for anti-democracy agents to slip into positions of power and cripple the region from the inside.

Her presence at this meeting, real instead of virtual, signifies that her work is done, and from the smile on her face, done successfully.

Bedivere and Lamorak follow shortly thereafter. Bedivere always reminds Eggsy of a model from the International Male catalog – which is probably why he holds the record for the most successful honeypot missions. Lamorak , though, is a man who can intimidate a brick shit house just by breathing, an impression that's not hurt by the pair of long, wide scars down his left cheek. _V-Day souvenirs._

Merlin looks up from his tablet and nods at them. "Glasses, Knights."

Instantly, the rest of the surviving members of the Table appear as greenish holograms – Bors, on assignment in Buenos Aires, Kay, in Finland, Percival in Mongolia. Eggsy tries not to grin at Percival, who's wearing native dress and looks right darling in a fur cap.

"Thank you for coming, and I'll get right to the point. Our recruitment efforts suck balls. Smelly balls."

Eggsy bites his lip in an effort not to laugh; Bedivere and Kay don't bother with such restraint.

"It's not a laughing matter, Knights. We're still down by a full third and cannot continue this way. The candidates you've proposed are …" Merlin sighs and shakes his head, "barely adequate. We might be able to fill two slots with the dregs that are left, but honestly, if we had the luxury of time, I'd scrap the lot of them and start over."

Eggsy had – like all of the survivors – offered up two proposals. He hadn't known either of them personally – they'd been names on a list of potential candidates that Merlin had provided – but they're young, fit, and marginally better than the lot he'd gone through training with. Both had washed out by the third trial, which had ended Eggsy's own interest in the process. He has too much work on his own plate to get involved in the training.

"So what are we supposed to do, Arthur?" Roxy, bless her, asks the question that's on the tip of Eggsy's tongue.

"As for the recruits we have now, we'll see how they play out – if some cream doesn't rise to the top by next week, we'll take a vote on scraping and starting over for the Gawaine, Geraint and Gaharis positions. For Tristan, something's fallen into my lap. Something unexpected." Merlin actually smiles and Eggsy gets goosebumps. That grin usually means trouble. Merlin taps his tablet and everyone else's gives out a soft ping. "I've just sent all of you a file on someone I would like to commission as Tristan."

That startles Eggsy into speaking up. "Commission? Not a training proposal?" 

"This particular candidate has already gone through training; ironically the Tristan trials about thirteen years ago. He was one of the final two. And Galahad, I think you might just have a great deal of fellow feeling for him."

Eggsy blinks and looks up as Merlin's words penetrate. "He wouldn't shoot his dog?"

"Exactly." Merlin gives him a dry look.

"I like him already." Eggsy can't wait to find out more about this potential Tristan.

Kay, a nice enough bloke even though he is the starchiest and most traditional of all the Knights, comments, "I thought we'd decided not to look at washouts to fill the open slots. Your own directive, in fact."

Merlin nods in acknowledgement. "This one's different. It's Neal Caffrey; some of you might remember him."

Lamorak grimaces and the expression pulls at his scars, making him look a bit gruesome. "Ah, the overachieving American."

Eggsy's a bit confused by that, at least until Merlin clarifies.

"Half-American. His mother's English. And Lamorak's description about overachieving is correct. Neal Caffrey still holds the record for scores on all of the academic tests, as well the psychological training. His marksmanship and physical endurance records are still within the all-time top five."

Roxy looks impressed. "Seems like the perfect candidate. Except for not shooting his dog."

Eggsy glares at his best friend. He still can't believe she'd pointed a gun at Juliette, her beloved poodle, and pulled the trigger. 

Merlin continues, "Caffrey is the perfect candidate and he has my full support, but his situation is a bit … unique. And while I could commission him without the Table's approval, I think it sets a bad precedent."

Eggsy wants to comment on that; after all, his own commissioning had been subject to way too much discussion. It hadn't been until he'd been officially voted in as Galahad that Merlin pointed out to everyone that Kingsman isn't a democracy and if they'd cocked it up and didn't make it unanimous, he'd have done it without anyone's approval. They had, after all, made him Arthur and he bloody well was going to use that power if he had to.

"Read the file and we'll reconvene tomorrow to discuss and vote." Merlin gets up and Eggsy stands, too. It's a habit he doesn't understand how he acquired and he doesn't want to break, regardless of how everyone else laughs at him. Merlin sweeps out of the boardroom, followed by Bedivere and Lamorak, and Eggsy takes his seat again, not really sure what he should be doing, other than reading that file. He's three days back from his last mission and there's nothing scheduled for him until next week. 

"Rox, want to get something to eat?" Eggsy's not particularly hungry, but he wouldn't mind the company.

Roxy yawns. "Mind if I pass? I'm so tired I'll probably fall asleep in the soup. Going to bunk here for a few hours and then do my debrief with Morgana."

"Yeah, no problem. You look as lovely as always, but you probably should get some sleep." He's too much of a gentleman to mention that the bags under Roxy's eyes look like they've been around a Heathrow carousel a few times. Roxy leaves and Eggsy now has sole possession of the Boardroom.

Eggsy's always been proud that he's a self-sufficient kind of guy. He doesn't need people, not really; he can go home – to that house in Stanhope Mews – break out a bottle of scotch, take Mr. Pickle out of the downstairs loo to give JB some company, and grieve by himself. He thinks Harry would be proud of that.

Not that he really has a lot of time to drink himself stupid. Six months and thirteen missions since V-Day, this is the longest stretch of downtime he's had since the world almost ended. And for fuck's sake, he doesn't like the feeling; like he doesn't quite fit into his skin. He wonders if Harry ever felt like this, and how he'd had dealt with it – probably drinking, spending time on the practice range, time in the gym. And more drinking. Given the contents of Harry's liquor cabinet, the wine cellar, and the collection of empty bottles that had been waiting for recycling when Eggsy had taken up residence, he wonders just how Harry stayed upright. 

And off the list for a liver transplant.

Eggsy had mentioned it once, and only once, to Merlin, and Merlin had laughed. He hadn't been unkind, just weary. _"It's a problem we all succumb to, sooner or later. Ennui – you know the word?"_

Eggsy didn't, but he'd looked it up on the spot and it had certainly summed up his feelings. 

_"I'd rather not see you drown your problems in drink – not at such a tender age. You need to talk, you need some company, come see me. I'll make time for ye."_

Eggsy had been all too conscious of how generous that offer had been. Merlin's the busiest person in Kingman – even without his responsibilities as Arthur. To make time for Eggsy is a gift. 

Eggsy checks the time, it's a little before noon and he heads down to the commissary. Not for himself, he had a decent breakfast. No, he's going to take care of Merlin, just as Merlin's doing his best to take care of him.

A half hour later, he has a waxed box filled with freshly made American-style fried chicken and chips and he saunters over to Merlin's office.

The minions in their cubicles don't try to stop Eggsy. He's a frequent visitor and Eggsy half suspects that Merlin's told his staff that Eggsy has a pass for free entry, since both Kay and Percival have both shared horror stories about trying to pop into Merlin's demesne without prior authorization.

Eggsy knocks, but he doesn't stand on ceremony and barges in. Merlin's replaced the suit jacket with one of his jumpers, he's staring at lines of code on a triptych of enormous monitors, and it feels like everything's back in its proper place.

"Lad, when you knock, you're supposed to wait for someone to say 'come in'."

"Eh, gov – too late to teach me manners. Besides, I brought you lunch."

Merlin looks at the box in Eggsy's hands and sniffs the air. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah. Thought you could use a treat."

"What do ye want, Eggsy?" Merlin's instantly suspicious.

"Why would I want anything?" He puts the box on a small table and fetches a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the corner.

"I know ye, lad." Merlin gives him a hard stare and he must read something in Eggsy's face, because that stare softens into something resembling fondness. "You're all right, Eggsy Unwin. A regular Galahad."

Eggsy laughs; he isn't quite sure what Merlin means by that. "You gonna eat, or what?"

"Yeah, I'll eat." Merlin rolls his chair over to the small table and gestures for Eggsy to sit down.

"Thanks." He pulls out his tablet and starts reading the file that Merlin had provided during the meeting, tuning out the sounds of Merlin as he relishes the meal.

He's about three pages into the dossier on Neal Caffrey and bursts out, "What the ever-loving fuck?"

Merlin licks his thumb and grins. "Ah, you're getting to the good parts."

"He's – he's a felon!" Eggsy is outraged.

"As you nearly were, my lad. And unlike you, he was arrested only once. Non-violent crime, and the deed was about as esoteric as you can get. Bond forgery."

"But – " Eggsy's spluttering and he knows it. 

"Keep reading."

Obedient, Eggsy turns back to his tablet and does just what Merlin says. It's fucking _fascinating_. The crimes this guy's been suspected of seem like something out of a movie – or a whole lot of movies. Forgery, art theft, jewel theft, counterfeiting, money laundering, impersonating Danish royalty, impersonating an American admiral, impersonating an English butler - which may or may not be a crime, and the list goes on. Most of the allegations are pretty fucking amusing – like replacing a set of Renaissance bronze medallions with chocolate replicas that no one had spotted until they'd started to melt. Jumping off the Rialto Bridge in Venice when the FBI had been steps away from catching him. And all without a single act of interpersonal violence. He can actually see why Merlin thinks that Neal Caffrey would make a good Kingsman. 

When he gets to Caffrey's FBI file, Eggsy starts laughing. Not just laughing, but howling. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" The words come out as gasps and he's actually crying. "They called him 'James Bonds'? This can't be right."

"It certainly is." Merlin's smiling and his eyes are fucking sparkling. 

Eggsy snags Merlin's water and takes a sip, grimacing at the slightly greasy taste on the plastic rim. "You like him, don't you?"

"Well, of course I do. I wouldn't have entertained the idea of bringing him to the Table if I didn't."

"That's not what I mean." Eggsy bites his lip, wondering if he's about to cross a line. "I mean you _like_ him."

Merlin gives him a look, the kind that would have just about made him piss himself when he'd been a trainee. "Are we back in high school? Are you going to offer to share make-up tips and maybe ask to borrow a pair of shoes?"

Eggsy's not backing down. "You're deflecting, Merlin."

"And you're a nosy little shit."

"Just asking. Wanna get your view of the man."

"I put together that dossier - you have my view of him. So keep reading and let me get back to work."

Eggsy migrates over to the couch, careful not to disturb the piles of circuit boards that litter half of it. After V-Day, when Eggsy started spending his downtime in Merlin's office, the couch had been completely covered in all manner of incomplete and incomprehensible bits of tech, until one afternoon, after he'd come back from a job in Burundi covered in bruises and a rather serious concussion and unwilling to stay in Medical. Merlin had taken one look at him, swept the couch clean and covered him in a plaid blanket.

Over the past few months, the tech had migrated back to the couch, but there is always room for Eggsy to sit. The hours pass quickly as Eggsy works his way through the dossier, outraged and charmed and fascinated in turn and at the same time. This guy - this Neal Caffrey - really is the fucking shit. There doesn't seem to be anything he can't do. Math whiz. Forger extraordinaire. Olympic-class fencer. Even a bit of parkour – the way he throws himself off buildings and through windows. Speaks nine languages fluently, including goddamn fucking Conversational Swahili, whatever that is.

The FBI stuff is really kind of interesting, especially the reports written by Caffrey's handler. Lots of amused exasperation, lots of outright admiration, lots of anger, too - especially in the last year or so. Eggsy finds himself feeling for the guy - Caffrey, not the Feeb. Reading the Feeb's notes, the bitter commentary about failed expectations, twisted potential, Eggsy flashes back to that last moment with Harry.

"Everything all right, lad?"

Eggsy realizes he must have sighed. "Yeah. Some of this cuts a little too close to the bone."

"Keep reading." Merlin turns back to his screens.

Merlin's right - it does get better. Caffrey and his handler seem to come to some kind of rapprochement, so much so that the Feeb even goes to his bosses to get Caffrey released early. Eggsy kind of wants to cry when that falls through. And then he really cries when he reads Peter Burke's final entry on Neal Caffrey - how he died in the line of duty.

There's audio files of the eulogies that had been given at the man's funeral and Eggsy plugs in his earbuds to listen, but it's hard. They remind him all too much of Harry's funeral, except that Harry's really dead and Neal Caffrey had staged his own murder.

"Why did he do it? Didn't he trust his friends?"

"Caffrey had little reason to believe the FBI would keep their end of the bargain - they'd fucked him over before, but that really wasn't why he staged his own death."

"Then what was?"

Merlin's expression is somewhere between fondness and exasperation - it's a look that Eggsy knows all too well. "The Pink Panthers are - were - a rather murderous organization. They were so successful because no one ever betrayed them and lived. They went after whole families, friends, colleagues. Caffrey faked his death to keep his friends alive. That's a rare kind of loyalty. And takes balls of steel to see it through."

Eggsy has to agree. "I can see why you think this guy will be a good agent." He goes back to the file and finds that there's no more to read. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Rest of what?" Merlin's turned back to his screens.

"The data on Caffrey. What has he done since his 'death'? What about a picture of the guy?"

"Caffrey's been on the right side of the law, what he's been doing isn't relevant at the moment. And as for a picture, well, I'd rather let him make a proper first impression."

"That can mean a lot of different things, guv." He wonders if the guy's a troll. 

"Yes, Eggsy, it can." 

There's something nagging at Eggsy. "You've given us all of Caffrey's training data from his Tristan trials, his test scores, his evaluations, but there's something I'm not seeing here."

"What's that?"

"Who sponsored him?"

Merlin doesn't answer, but he does turn around. The expression on his face is oddly unreadable, and if just for that, Eggsy knows the answer. "Harry proposed him?"

"Aye, lad."

"I'm guessing that Harry didn't just pick him off of a list." Eggsy is trying to be casual about this, but it's hard to be casual about anything involving Harry Hart.

"No, he didn't. He'd known Neal for a while before the Tristan trials began."

"A while?"

"Six months or so." There's something in Merlin's tone that's telling Eggsy to stop, just for his own good.

But Eggsy can't. Not about anything that involves Harry. "Do you know how they met?"

"I think it was in a junk shop on the Portobello Road."

That's something Eggsy can see; after all, the house he's living in is a monument to Harry's love of clutter. But it's hard to picture Harry striking up a friendship with someone over vintage tea cups. And it's even harder to picture Neal Caffrey – the one that he's gotten to know through Merlin's dossier – actually collecting vintage tea cups, or some other such crap.

Eggsy stares out into nothing, trying to put together plausible scenarios where Harry met Neal Caffrey, became friends with him and thought enough of him to propose him as a candidate for Kingsman. It's hard enough to have personal relationships …

The light dawns. "They were lovers?"

Merlin says in a deceptively bland tone, "I believe they had a mutually convenient relationship."

"What the fuck does _that_ mean?" Eggsy knows exactly what it means, but he needs to hear Merlin say it.

Merlin raises an eyebrow at that. "I think 'friends with benefits' is the modern term, no?"

Eggsy's shaking and he doesn't know why.

"Lad?"

He slips the tablet into his jacket pocket and gets up. "I need to go."

"Go where?"

"Gym, maybe the obstacle course. Just – just need to go do something. Too much downtime, you know? Feeling antsy, been cooped up inside too long." He does a full body shiver for emphasis.

"Can you give me five minutes to finish this? I'm getting the creepy-crawlies too, wouldn't mind going a few rounds with ye in the ring, if you're game."

Eggsy rocks back on his heels and feels a smile curve his lips. "Yeah, that sounds awesome." Maybe Merlin will beat some sense into him. It's one thing to fantasize about having some kind of romantic relationship with Harry without knowing if the man had been gay. It's another thing to find out that Harry had been fuck buddies with some kind of paragon, a man that the FB-fucking-I had dubbed "James Bonds".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not completely familiar with White Collar canon, the acts that Eggsy reads about are either the plot or were mentioned in the following White Collar episodes:
> 
> Forgery - 1.01 - Pilot (Snow White and Her Seven Little Men), 1.05 (The Portrait), 1.14 (Out of the Box), 2.11 (Forging Bonds), 3.10 (Countdown), 4.15 (The Original), 4.12 (Emipire City), 3.15 (Stealing Home)  
> Art theft - 1.11 (Home Invasion), 1.14 (Out of the Box), 2.11 (Forging Bonds), 4.05 (Honor Among Thieves), 5.03 (One Last Stakeout), 3.16 (Judgment Day)  
> Jewel Theft - 1.07 (Free Fall), 2.03 (Copycat Caffrey), 2.12 (What Happens in Burma), 2.14 (Payback)  
> Counterfeiting - 2.11 (Countermeasures)  
> Money laundering - 1.06 (All In)  
> Impersonating Danish royalty - 1.12 (Front Man)  
> impersonating an American admiral - 3.08 (As You Were)  
> Impersonating an English butler - 5.05 (Master Plan)  
> Replacing a set of Renaissance bronze medallions with chocolate replicas that no one had spotted until they'd started to melt - 3.10 (Countdown)  
> Jumping off the Rialto Bridge in Venice when the FBI had been steps away from catching him - My own fanon ([Between the Darkness and the Dawn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/153465), or the smuttier version, [New York, New York, It's a Helluva Town](http://archiveofourown.org/works/196692))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, as Arthur, calls the Table for a vote on commissioning Neal Caffrey as the new Tristan. He's not really worried about the outcome, but he is concerned about Eggsy.

Merlin's not overly worried about the Table's reaction to Neal Caffrey. 

He knows he can count on Bors and Lamorak and Percival voting for Neal. Lancelot, too. Bedivere can be persuaded. 

Then there's Kay. He's not just the most traditional of all the remaining Knights, he's also the most protective of the Kingsman legacy. He would probably vehemently oppose letting a half-American former criminal take a seat at the Table, if not for one little detail. Alan Woodford, criminal mastermind and the head of the Pink Panthers, is Kay's brother and had been Kay's proposal for the Lancelot trials back in '97. Kay – Stephen, as he's less formally known – had never forgiven his brother for the betrayal of everything he'd held dear, and Merlin is absolutely certain that he'll support the man who finally took his brother down.

The only real wildcard is Eggsy – Galahad. Merlin admits to himself that it's still hard to think of the lad with Harry's code name. 

But perhaps in this case, Merlin _does_ need to think of the lad as Eggsy. Because so much of Eggsy's reactions to Neal are going to be wrapped up in his feelings for Harry. 

From their conversation yesterday, it's pretty damn clear that Eggsy's seeing Neal as a rival for a dead man's affections. 

Merlin can tell Eggsy until he's blue in the face that there had been no finer feelings between the two men. They scratched each other's itches, nothing more. Harry had admired Neal, not because Neal was an admirable man, but because he was clever and quick and as bent as a piece of angle iron. He could tell Eggsy that once Harry had dropped Neal off at HQ, he'd never seen him again, never asked about him during the training process. Even when Merlin had told Harry that his proposal had failed the last test, Harry's reaction had been little more than a shrug. 

It hadn't been until later, when Caffrey had gotten scooped up by the FBI that Harry had regained some interest.

Harry had found Neal amusing, a potential asset to use to further Kingsman's goals. He hadn't been the least bit invested in Neal as a person. Certainly not the way he'd been with Eggsy.

But Eggsy, being Eggsy – a brilliant young man with a huge chip on his shoulder – wouldn't let himself believe a word Merlin said. 

And speak of the devil, "Morning, Arthur." Eggsy's just come into the Boardroom.

"Morning, Galahad. Trust you've recovered."

Eggsy rolls his shoulders and neck. "Yeah, thanks for the workout. It's the best I've had in a while."

"Thank you, lad. If you're up for it, I'd like you as a regular sparring partner." 

Eggsy's eyes light up. "Really, guv? I'm nowhere near as good as you."

"Few people are, but you're quick and your smart and you're willing to improve."

Eggsy ducks his head, all embarrassed delight at the praise. He's different when it comes to the work, accepting acknowledgements of a job well done as they are due him; but with anything else, Eggsy gets a bit flustered at the least compliment. "That would be great, guv. I mean, Arthur."

Merlin smiles and goes over to the sideboard. "Coffee?"

And Eggsy gets more flustered. "Uh, I should be getting you coffee, no?"

"Why's that?" Merlin's enjoying himself far too much.

"Because you're Arthur. And Merlin."

Merlin stifles a sigh. Perhaps it's for the best that Harry's gone. If he'd found out that Eggsy has a service kink as deep as the Atlantic, he might never have let the lad go. "And you're Galahad. We're all equals, at least until I can find someone else to wear the crown. Once I'm just the quartermaster again, you'll be my superior."

The lad looks appalled at that.

"Besides, we're friends and there's no reason why I can't get you a cup of coffee." He pours a cup for Eggsy, another for himself and fixes both. 

Eggsy takes the cup with a muttered thanks and heads to the Siege Perilous. Merlin has heard the other Knights use the term, of course, but finds it far more interesting that Eggsy's voluntarily sits in the same seat he'd occupied when he'd executed Chester King.

The rest of the Table files into the Boardroom; Lamorak gives Merlin a look of deep respect. Not that he's ever been anything less than respectful, but this is something different. He clearly approves of Caffrey as Tristan.

"Glasses, please." Merlin exchanges his readers for the special holographic lenses and Percival – thankfully in a Kingsman suit this time and not local garb; Bors and Kay appear in all their greenish glory. "I trust all of you read the dossier on Caffrey. I presume there are questions."

Kay, unsurprisingly, is the first to speak up. "You are certain that the information here is correct? That Neal Caffrey is directly responsible for the arrest and conviction of Alan Woodford and the rest of the Panthers?"

"Absolutely correct. You're free to contact the case agent and get more details, provided you won't let the cat out of the bag about Neal being alive." If he has to, Merlin will give Kay the names of Burke's junior agents. He definitely doesn't want anyone from Kingsman reaching out to Peter Burke, now an Assistant Director at the FBI.

Kay just nods; seemingly satisfied with Merlin's answer.

The other agents have questions – most about Neal's tenure with the FBI and whether his loyalties could be counted on. Merlin answers with ever-decreasing patience.

Finally, Roxy asks the question he'd hope for. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, sir, but what prompted you to track down a wash-out? Especially since you'd been the one to tell us not to propose any former candidates."

"That is a fair question, Lancelot. And I think the answer will surprise you." Merlin's been looking forward to this moment for a while. "You were all, with the exception of Galahad, commissioned after successfully completing the last test. What you probably don't know is that your counterparts – the candidates who couldn't shoot the dog – had been granted a favor from Kingsman."

Eggsy sits up and Merlin can see the questions he's about to ask. "And yes, Eggsy – the favor that Harry had given your mother and by extension, you, had been something Lee had been entitled to."

Eggsy nods and Merlin knows that they'll have to discuss this sooner than later. But not now.

Merlin returns to the point at hand. "Neal Caffrey refused to shoot his dog and thus washed out of the Tristan Trials. As part of Kingsman custom, he had been granted a favor. He never called it in. Not when he'd been arrested or when he was tried or when he was sent to prison. Not when he'd escaped from a maximum security prison, was recaptured and had faced another four years for that stunt. Neal Caffrey could have called in that favor at any time and Kingsman would have pulled whatever strings necessary to do his bidding. That's the way favors work."

From the corner of his eye, Merlin sees Eggsy nodding.

"He didn't call it in until a few weeks ago, when he asked to speak with me personally. Paris is _not_ lovely this time of year, but I thought it worthwhile going to see him."

"And that's when you decided that Neal Caffrey should be made a Kingsman?" Bedivere seems more curious than antagonistic.

"No, that's when Neal Caffrey told me what he wanted as a favor. He wanted another shot at becoming a Kingsman. He used his favor to get another chance."

"Jesus." That's from Bors. "The man does hard time, he's an indentured servant to a law enforcement agency, kills himself off to save his friends from the Panthers, and only calls in the favor because he wants another shot at being a Kingsman. The man's crazy." 

"I think I'm glad he's on our side," Roxy mutters.

"You only think, Lancelot?" Merlin gives the lass his most intimidating stare.

And Roxy corrects herself, "No, you're right, sir. I know I'm glad. Would hate to think of all that talent working against us."

There are a few more questions, but it's fairly obvious that the Table is more than willing to welcome Neal Caffrey as Tristan, and welcome him with open arms.

"I believe the discussion is closed. Shall we take a vote?"

After the chorus of "ayes", Merlin runs down the roster by seniority. As expected, Kay, currently the longest serving Knight, votes in favor, and the rest of the Table quickly follows suit. 

"Galahad?"

Eggsy doesn't cast his vote right away and Merlin can see that he's torn between his own grief and doing the right thing. His vote for Neal isn't even necessary; Merlin would just prefer to have it unanimous. 

Finally, Eggsy says, "In favor."

"And as Arthur, I vote in favor, as well. Thank you, Knights. I appreciate your support in this matter."

Bedivere asks, "When are you bringing Caffrey in?"

"Tomorrow. He's in London, now. We'll have the investiture tomorrow evening."

The remote members of the Table sign off and Bedivere, Lamorak, Lancelot and Galahad get to their feet. Merlin asks the latter pair to stay.

"You recovered from your trip, Lancelot? Morgana has given me a transcript of your debriefing. Stellar work."

"Thank you, sir. And yes, all recovered."

"And you, Galahad, you're doing well?"

Eggsy nods. "Yes, sir. Thank you for asking."

"Then I have a small assignment for you." Merlin pushes some data from his tablet to the large monitor that usually masquerades as a hunting scene. "Your target is George Deschanel, he's been working as a security expert for several museums in Paris for the last two years. However, we believe he's actually planning to rob them."

Merlin adds a photograph to the information on the monitor and enjoys the gape-mouthed expressions on Eggsy's and Roxy's faces. Neal Caffrey is, objectively speaking, one of the most beautiful men ever born.

"We're still in the early stages of this, so your assignment is to get Deschanel's phone and clone the data without him being the wiser. You have a very brief window – he's in London for a meeting tonight and you'll need to make your move before he gets back on a plane to Paris."

Merlin dons his best poker face as he answers his Knights' questions. He's not sure how this is going to play out, but he's definitely going to enjoy watching.

__

To Be Continued

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> He was born to wear bespoke, no?


End file.
